The M Word
by Sonya Omun
Summary: Ritsuka wasn't the only one to ever suffer from his mother's abuse. As Seimei's Fighter, it is Soubi's duty to assist his Sacrifice in any way he can. One-shot.


Special thanks to Ishkhanuhi for beta reading!

**THE M WORD**

Soubi was a good Fighter. At least, that's what he liked to tell himself. Years of personal and _specialized_ tutelage under Ritsu-sensei had ensured that his spell work was unrivaled. Effortlessly, Soubi could string together intricate spells, weaving impenetrable webs of words, and use his opponents' attacks against them. Perfectly taught, perfectly honed, Soubi was a Fighter created for one reason only: to serve his Sacrifice.

Though it was Seimei's task, as Sacrifice, to be the one to sustain damage in a spell battle, he had rarely suffered more than bruises where the chains of restraint had clamped around his wrists and throat. In secret, Soubi was grateful that Seimei punished him after every such lapse. As rivulets of scarlet seeped from him, he could imagine it was the blood packed against Seimei's skin in blue-purplish whorls that was draining away instead.

Seimei was Soubi's reason for being. The chain that kept Soubi secure to his place and purpose and prevented him from dissolving into blank insignificance. To protect and to obey: those were the only two credences that ruled Soubi's existence.

But there were times when Soubi failed. Not in spell battles, but there were instances where Soubi caught glances of bruises on his Sacrifice's arms, or what looked like fingernail scratches on Seimei's hands and wrists.

Soubi had been horrified the first time he noticed, shooting off worried enquiries without prelude and even going as far as reaching out to better inspect the damage. Seimei had left him sprawled on the floor, head spinning and cheek stinging from the brutal slap administered by the heavy book Seimei clutched in his hands. The acidic sarcasm in Seimei's voice as he told Soubi to worry about his own injuries had hurt far worse than the bruise blossoming on his face.

Though Soubi never brought it up again, he didn't stop noticing. Seimei must have come to the same conclusion, because not long after, his Sacrifice had showed up on Soubi's doorstep unannounced, forearms crudely wrapped in bloody bandages.

He had been ordered not to speak. With paled lips pressed tightly together to hold back a volley of desperate questions, Soubi had picked the pieces of what he was sure had been been a mirror from his Sacrifice's skin.

It was like that for a time; Seimei showing up with occasional wounds and Soubi tending to them in silence while he mentally begged for Seimei to order him to make things better. The anger that roiled from his Sacrifice in heavy waves scared Soubi. Not because he feared Seimei's anger – it was disappointing Seimei that Soubi dreaded, not receiving punishment – but because it made his Sacrifice feel distant. Even though it was Soubi's purpose to do anything for his Sacrifice, Seimei would not speak about whatever issue he was dealing with and Soubi was left doubting his use. No matter how fiercely he wanted to do something – anything! - to help, Seimei clearly found Soubi lacking.

It didn't happen at once, but Soubi learned over time what Seimei needed in those moments. He knew, even if Seimei didn't, why Seimei began to come him with injuries he could have easily dealt with himself. The pattern emerged gradually and it had taken some time for Soubi to discern what the glint in Seimei's eyes meant as he chastised Soubi for his carelessness in cleaning cuts, or punished him for his apparent weakness when his hands shook as he applied the gauze. Soubi understood, as was his place as Beloved's Fighter.

Seimei always liked playing games with Soubi. This was the only game Soubi would ever think to instigate.

'Was it your mother?' Soubi's throat went dry as he very gently dabbed Seimei's skin with antiseptic. No matter how many times they would play this game, he doubted that he would ever be left unaffected by how dangerous it was.

'What?' Seimei's sharp tone, accompanied by the cutting sheen to his narrowed eyes, left no room to question that he'd heard Soubi quite clearly.

'You mentioned your father is out of town, so you had to get back to your mother and brother. And I only dropped you off two hours ago.' Soubi had learned it was best to expound upon a question, rather than just repeat it. While he spoke, he kept his eyes firmly on the cut that ran across Seimei's palm.

The scarlet line standing out accusingly against Seimei's skin was shallow, but unnaturally straight. Tightening his teeth on the inside of his lip, Soubi tried not to dwell on the fact that it looked like Seimei had gripped a knife's blade with his hand. Realizing the source of Seimei's wounds had been difficult for Soubi, knowing what he was leaving his younger Sacrifice to whenever he was allowed to walk Seimei home.

Seimei's terse voice was like a knife itself, cutting deep into Soubi's soul. 'Such great deduction skills you show, Soubi.' Soubi chanced a glance up, but looked back down with a minute shiver, unable to withstand the look of vehement disapproval etched on Seimei's face.

'I don't recall expressing myself confused on the proceedings. I know what happened, Soubi. I don't need you to work it out for me, do you understand?'

There, the opening Soubi was waiting for. Using the movement of wrapping a strip of bandage around Seimei's hand to mask the breath he took to steady himself, Soubi pushed the game further. 'Yes, Beloved.'

To Soubi, this was the worst part of the game. The moment where Seimei's lip curled in a delicate expression of disdain. Soubi had always adored Seimei's true name, but Seimei did not want to be called by it. At least not by Soubi.

'I told you not to call me that.' Seimei's voice was thinner, but still carefully controlled.

Swallowing discreetly – he hoped – Soubi said, 'Is it not your name? It is the name Seimei marked me with.'

Slowly, dangerously slow, Seimei's eyes moved from his bandaged hand to his Fighter. There was no threatening 'what' meant to discourage Soubi from his sudden candour in questioning, no displeased stare. Instead, Seimei smiled sweetly. Soubi knew the game was progressing.

'You know better, Soubi. You know what to call me.'

In his mind, Soubi was already chanting the word, but he only gave a docile nod and made sure to say the wrong thing. 'Yes, Seimei.' His voice was soft, but it sounded offensively loud in the silence that followed. They both knew that wasn't what Seimei meant...

Seimei's kindly smile only grew more empty as it stretched. 'No, Soubi.'

Soubi didn't like this part of their game. The part where Seimei decided if they would be playing at all. If Soubi had misread Seimei's desires, his Sacrifice would leave with barely a last look of utter contempt and Soubi knew that he would likely suffer for it. If he was correct in guessing what his Sacrifice wanted, Soubi's suffering was already ensured.

'I told you what to call me when we are alone.' Soubi craned his head up as Seimei rose with liquid grace to tower over him. 'And I thought I made myself quite clear.

Oh, he had. Soubi still relished the memory of how close Seimei had pressed to him while twisting his hair and hissing that he would not let Soubi forget that he was _his._

To agree to Seimei's statement would be to end the game, Soubi knew, but disagreeing would push it too far, too quick. Seimei had to want it first. So Soubi took refuge in the fact that his Sacrifice had posed him no question and held his silence, only shifting to make himself more comfortable on his knees at Seimei's feet.

When Seimei moved suddenly, Soubi did not flinch. He was, however, alert enough to keep the back of his skull from cracking into the wall when Seimei's knee shot out and connected with his chest, knocking him on his rear and thumping his back into the panelling behind him.

Despite the expression of stoic acceptance that Soubi was sure to retain throughout the rough handling, he was convinced Seimei could feel the rapid cadence of Soubi's heart beating against his sternum. It was coming. He could tell from the fact that Seimei's knee stayed pressed against him, sliding upwards. A chilly tongue lapped at Soubi's navel where his shirt had slipped up, pinned against the wall by Seimei's knee on his throat.

Even as his breathing grew more laboured, rasping through his lungs, Soubi could only watch, enraptured, as Seimei planted his forearm against the wall to look down at Soubi. With his head forcibly tilted back, Soubi had no choice but to look deep into Seimei's eyes and his senses swam as though he had never caught himself from the blow to his head.

The length of Seimei's shin resting against his chest made Soubi feel the foolish urge to wrap his arms around the appendage and hug it close. To feel part of Seimei's body, any part, press against him made Soubi's loins tighten with a quiver. When the tip of Seimei's shoe grazed the lap of Soubi's pants, he shifted his legs in an attempt to assuage the budding pressure between his thighs.

'I don't like having to repeat myself,' Seimei's voice sounded soft and amiable, a spark in his eyes as he pressed his knee harder into Soubi's throat. 'Say it, Soubi.'

The word Seimei demanded burned on Soubi's lips, but he had learned that he shouldn't say it – not yet.

Forearm still planted against the wall, Seimei's hand curled into a loose fist as Soubi watched the patience dwindling in the other's eyes, being replaced by a dark fire that smouldered in those endlessly deep pools. Seimei's lips curled in what could equally be a snarl or a smile as he prompted Soubi again, '_Say it!_' His sibilant voice lashed out like a cracking whip.

'M-' Soubi's compliance was instinctive before his lips tightened in a moment of indecision – torn between what he knew Seimei wanted and his own innate desire to obey any order given by his Sacrifice. But Seimei's eyes were alight, the tip of his tongue swiping over his bottom lip as his gaze bored into his Fighter, still holding Soubi, keeping him in place.

Closing his eyes, Soubi could already envision Seimei bearing down on him – a blitz of fists and leather and steel and absolute, undivided _focus_. Focus on Soubi. When Soubi opened his eyes, he smiled.

It was ironic that, for the perfectly crafted Fighter unit, Soubi's greatest act of submission to his Sacrifice's will was flagrant disobedience.

Lifting his chin in anticipation of the hand he knew would be clamping around his windpipe soon, Soubi looked Seimei straight in the eyes, saying the word that he knew Seimei wanted to hear, though he would never command Soubi to say it.

Smoothing his hands up Seimei's calf – he would never grow wary of this game for that alone – Soubi's eyes fell half mast as he gently murmured, 'More.'

It was the savage pleasure shimmering brightly in Seimei's eyes that really made Soubi gasp as Seimei's knee fell away and squeezing fingers found his throat.

'Have you forgotten so quickly? I think it's time for a reminder, Soubi.' Seimei's drawl, bone-chillingly pleasant, coiled up Soubi's spine and his arms fell away bonelessly, body already yielding to that voice alone.

Soubi's whole body shivered in eager anticipation at the thought of aiding Seimei, if only by serving as an outlet for all of his fury and frustration. Outwardly, he only widened his smile to spur Seimei on more.

Yes, master, he chimed in his mind, putting up no resistance as Seimei dragged him forward. Because Soubi was a good Fighter.

**END**

**Additional author's note: **The title was originally only going to refer to 'more' and 'master,' but then it occurred to me that it could also stand for 'mother' – or Misaki, as it happens – so I decided to incorporate the idea of Seimei also weathering abuse at home. Though I imagine Ritsuka would still be the focal point of Misaki's violence and Seimei's injuries would stem from his attempts to get Ritsuka away from their mother's fits.

Thank you for your time! All comments are welcome.


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